My mother was too weak and her illness had taken her to the point that she needed him more than ever.  Her body coudln't make the Sunday trips anymore, so what did it matter if my father knew the truth?  It would only cause disruption and chaos.  That man was no longer a part of her life and he would be no part of her death.

I sat there and wondered if she missed him.  When my father would caress her face as he tried to coax her to eat something, was she wishing he was that man?  I cringed at the though of our visits with the "doctor" and I worried that my father could feel my skin tighten as I remembered.

I reacalled how my mother would come in early on Sunday mornings and wake me to go "worship."  She would tell me it was God's will that I be present in his house to study his word.  Sometimes I wondered exactly who my mother was worshiping and, in turn, who she expected me to worship.

 You see, my father had been promoted to State Trooper years earlier and voluntarily took the 7am - 3pm Sunday shift.  This had him out of the house an hour before my mother woke me up chirping happy words and singing.  I could barely remember my father making her that happy, but it seemed as though the doctor was doing the job now.

 We would go to church, but even a nine-year-old like myself is bright enough to pick up that it was a facade after a year.  They met there to wash away the sins that took place after and somewhere in the preaching, I recieved the message that a pre-meditated sin cannot be forgiven.  I wondered if they even heard the pastor.

 I also thought I had come to understand why I was dragged along.  I was the buffer.  I was the cover that my mother had so my father would never suspect any wrong doing.  Little did he know these trips are what made his boy a man in a very short time.